


Mostly a Love Story: A Fairy Tale of Love and Faithfulness

by jakia



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-07
Updated: 2012-11-07
Packaged: 2017-11-18 04:49:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jakia/pseuds/jakia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU.  When Blaine, bastard son of the king, meets Kurt during Samhain, or the Festival of the Dead, he never suspects that his newfound friend his cursed.  When he learns about the curse, however, he vows to do whatever he can to break the curse--even if it means doing what everyone around him believes is impossible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mostly a Love Story: A Fairy Tale of Love and Faithfulness

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Oh my GOD this is long, and had, at one point, eight different endings before this one. I finally settled on a happy ending, but I could have easily gone for the heart-crushing angst, so I might put up the alternate ending some day.
> 
> (Can it be vintage Klaine AU week yet? I want to write about hippie!Blaine giving blowjobs instead. Can it be that week instead? -_-)
> 
> EDIT: OH MY GOD I almost forgot thank you rainbowrites for being my cheerlearder/inspiration/beta/fandom wife, without whom this fic would have been much worse!  
> quick guide:
> 
> Anders—mountainous kingdom, Blaine’s homeland.
> 
> Merula—Latin for blackbird, Kurt’s kingdom.
> 
> Samhain: Celtic fire festival, where it was thought the dead walked the Earth for a week. It’s where we get our Halloween/All Spirits Day celebration.
> 
> Blaine’s mask: http://www.successcreations.com/product-p/s-2546.htm
> 
> Kurt’s mask: http://www.successcreations.com/product-p/a-1159.htm

Of course I know the stories, children.  I’m an old man now, but back then, I  _lived_ those stories.  And Amil is a land built on legend, and the stories of the Heroes of All Directions are the greatest stories our land has.

 

The real question is, what story to tell you?

 

Shall I tell you the story of Lady Quinn and the witch Shelby?  Sir Puckerman and the Beiste?  How about the tale of how Prince Michael defied his father’s wishes and made his dreams come true?  Or how about the story of the witch Santana and how she found her heart again?

 

Oh, who am I kidding?  I know what story you want to hear! 

 

The adventures of Lord Finn, coming right up!

 

…What’s that, Susan? You don’t  _want_  to hear the adventures of Lord Finn?  You’ve heard it a thousand times before?

 

But it’s the best story I know!

 

Humph.  Kids these days.  No respect for the good stories.

 

…Oh, you want a  _love_  story, Susan?  I can do that!  How about the story of Lord Finn and Princess Rachel and—

 

…You’ve heard  _that_  a thousand times too, huh?

 

Well, if it’s a love story you want, then there’s really only one I can tell, the best one that there is: tell me, do either of you know the story of Kurt and Blaine?

 

You don’t, do you?

 

Then settle down, children, and listen to the greatest love story I know.

 

\--And stop fretting, Thom.  I promise, it’s not just a love story.  There’s magic, too, and swords and witches and spells.

 

But it’s  _mostly_  a love story.

 

* * *

 

 

When the King of the Anders went to war with the Eastern Islands many, many years ago, he came back with a prize: the princess of the Eastern Islands, heavily pregnant with his child.

 

The king kept the princess locked in a tower as his prisoner and his concubine, to ensure that Islanders never tried to go to war with the Anders ever again.  By the dead of winter, peace had settled between the two warring nations, and Blaine, bastard son of the king, was born.

 

He would have been the perfect son, too, had he been born as anyone other than himself.

 

So when Blaine was sword fighting with his brother and managed to knock Prince Cooper down square on his arse, the King’s only response had been to chide them both.

 

“Cooper! You’re going to let your brother beat you? You’re twice his age and nearly twice his size—act like it!  And Blaine,” the King frowned, overlooking his youngest son’s nearly-flawless performance.  “You’re locking your elbows too tightly again.  Fix it.”

 

Cooper rubbed his sore arse.  “Yes, Father.”

 

Blaine bowed.  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

 

Then the King left, leaving the two princes alone on the training grounds.

 

“What an  _arse_.” Cooper complained, standing up begrudgingly.  Blaine looked at him, scandalized.

 

“Cooper!”

 

“What? He  _is_.”  The prince complained.  “He’s always going to be unhappy, because neither of us are what he wants.”

 

Blaine stiffened.  “He’s the King.”

 

“Yeah, and I’m the future King, so if anyone gets to call him an arse, it’s me.” Cooper rubbed Blaine’s head, messing with his (magically straightened) hair.  Blaine frowned, and forced his hair back in place.  “Anyway, don’t you need to be getting back to school?  You have some sort of party you’re singing at tonight, right?  With your bird friends?”

 

“They aren’t  _actually_  birds, you know.” Blaine smiled, amused.  “They’re mages.”

 

“Mages who turn themselves into birds when they sing.” Cooper shook his head.  “Madness.  Like sirens or something.”

 

“Sirens are  _girls_ , Cooper.  They also live in the ocean.”

 

“Whatever.  Get to Dalton, baby brother, before you turn into a pumpkin and ruin everyone’s evening.” Cooper rubbed his head one last time.  “Knock them dead.”

 

* * *

 

 

The Dalton Academy of Magic was an old school, one that had been in the Anderian kingdom since the Anders had been formed.  Blaine hadn’t always gone to the school—like most noble-born, he had had a private tutor for most of his education.  But after the accident, when three peasant boys took offense to Blaine’s magic and nearly beat him to death, his father thought it best if he went to school and learned how to control his power the right way.

 

In actuality, the boys took offense to Blaine’s affection for another  _man_ , but the King didn’t need to know that.  No one did, really.

 

Normally, Blaine didn’t go to Dalton after dark, but this week was an exception: the Samhain festival—a holiday celebrated only by mages and their ilk, was this week, and Blaine and his friends—the Warblers—had been asked to perform for the opening rites.

 

And Blaine was late.  He didn’t even have his mask on, and the masks were the most important part of the festival: without them, what would ward off the wicked spirits summoned by the festival?

 

But fate rarely cared for any individual’s plans, and Blaine’s fate was about to change, though he did not yet know it.

 

“Excuse me,” a quiet voice called to Blaine from staircase he just descended.  “Can I ask you a question?  I’m lost.”

 

He slid his pocket watch into his jacket, and turned. 

 

The boy was  _beautiful._   His skin was as fair as the moon, with eyes a color of blue Blaine had never seen before.  He wasn’t of Dalton, of course—even during festivals, the mages of the school were required to wear the standard red and blue robes—but he was dressed handsomely, in what resembled the uniform robes but weren’t  _quite_  the same.  The stranger looked much nicer in his black ensemble than anything Blaine was allowed to wear at Dalton.

 

The boy in front of him was so breathtaking that Blaine momentarily forgot his manners.  He held out his hand for the boy to take.  “My name is Blaine.”

 

“…Kurt,” The stranger offered with a shy smile, shaking Blaine’s hand gently.  His hands were freezing, but Blaine barely noticed, warmed by the stranger’s smile. “Where are we going?”

 

“Oh, the festival!” Blaine smiled widely.  “It’s starting soon, and the Warblers are performing the opening ceremony.  It—tends to draw in the entire school’s attention.”

 

The boy—Kurt—looked a little confused.  “So your group is—good, I guess?”

 

“Good?  We’re  _magical._ ” Blaine took Kurt’s hand and squeezed it.  “Come on, I know a short cut.”

 

It wasn’t much of a short cut; in fact, it might’ve been the long way, but it had been nice, holding Kurt’s hand, and Blaine had wanted to savor that feeling for as long as possible.

 

When they arrived in the Grand Hall, Blaine let go of Kurt’s hand reluctantly, and put on his own sun-clad mask, hiding his identity to friend and spirit alike.  Behind him, Kurt gazed upon the Hall with wonder.

 

“I stick out like a sore thumb.” Kurt mumbled shyly, pulling at his robes self-consciously.

 

Blaine laughed, and patted his shoulder.  “Well, next time don’t forget your mask, new kid!  You’ll fit right in.” He bowed before Kurt.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

 

He strode into the center of the hall, where his Warbler-friends, all wearing bird masks of one kind or another, had gathered.  And then, together, they sang:

 

_I was dead before we met_

_And die again I might_

_But by the winter long embrace_

_You’ll bring me back to life._

 

_Regret nothing, my lovely one_

_Take this chance and fly_

_We’ll dance again as lovers do_

_You and I, we’ll never die._

 

_Live your dream! Do not sleep!_

_Run away tonight!_

_Don’t look back to where you came_

_It doesn’t matter tonight._

 

_Drink our ale until you are merry_

_Dream well in our fort of sheets._

_Stay with me forever, my darling._

_With you, I’m complete._

 

As Blaine sang, magic began pulsating through the air, earning him the gasps and awes of his fellow students.  Slowly—very slowly—the long dead souls buried beneath Dalton began rising into the Hall to the sound of Blaine’s song. 

 

And maybe it was rude to ignore the spirits on Samhain, but all Blaine could focus on was Kurt.

 

_Regret nothing, my lovely one_

_Take this chance and fly_

_We’ll dance again as lovers do_

_You and I, we’ll never die._

 

_I die when you look at me_

_But with your touch, I rise_

_This is real, I’d never lie_

_So don’t look back tonight._

 

_Let your heart race once more_

_Touch me, again, as lovers do._

_Let a young dream live again tonight._

_Live again, tonight._

 

The entire Great Hall burst into applause, but no one, Blaine noticed, was clapping harder than Kurt.

 

Blaine always had liked that song.  It was a little silly for an old spell that brought out the dead, but, well, it had been written by somebody in love, somebody desperate to see their beloved again.

 

It was a sentiment, he’d soon learn, that he could get behind.

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re a terrible spy, you know?”

 

Kurt, now wearing a black feathered mask, smiled at him widely.  “A spy?  _Me?_   Whatever gave you that impression?”

 

“Your outfit.  It’s—Merulean, I think?” Blaine gently touched the fabric carefully.  Now that he was closer, the fabric seemed very, very old.  “Though none in a style I’ve ever seen before.”

 

“An eye for fashion? That’s something I can appreciate.” Kurt beamed at him.  “And you’re right, I am Merulean, but I—haven’t been home in some time.”

 

“What brings you to the Anders?”

 

Kurt looked over at him, curious.  “You can’t tell?”

 

Blaine raised an eyebrow. “What can’t I tell?”

 

“Well, you’re a mage, aren’t you?  I mean, you did the ritual and—“ Kurt frowned suddenly.  “Well, it doesn’t matter.  You’ll figure it out soon enough.  I—I think I’d like to step outside for a bit.  Would you like to accompany me?”

 

Blaine bowed softly, offering his arm to the mysterious man.  “I’d love nothing more.”

 

Kurt smiled at him fondly, wrapping his hands around Blaine’s arm.  “Your hands are so cold!  How are you not freezing?”

 

“I’m always cold,” Kurt laughed, walking with Blaine to the outer courtyard.  It was much quieter outside, and a little cooler, too, though Kurt seemed not to notice.  “A witch cursed me many years ago.  I think she meant it as a blessing, as a way to thank me for helping with her sister’s funeral, but it didn’t---work, exactly, like she wanted it to.” Kurt shrugged.  “That’s okay, though.  It was complicated magic.  Even the greatest witches and wizards would stumble through a spell like that.”

 

“Are you a mage, then?”

 

Kurt shrugged.  “I know a little magic, but I don’t know if I know enough to be called a mage.”  He ran his hand across one Dalton’s old pillars.  “I had wanted to attend a school like Dalton, to learn magic the proper way, but, well, I couldn’t afford it.  My family was too poor.”

 

“Was?” Blaine asked softly, with a gentle hand on Kurt’s shoulder. 

 

Kurt nodded.  “Yes.  They’re all dead, now.  Well, except for my brother Finn, but I haven’t spoken to him in years.  We—we weren’t close.”

 

“Is your family here?” Blaine gestured back to the building.  “Inside, I mean, with the other…spirits.”

 

Kurt shook his head.  “No, they’re buried in Merula.  I’m the only one who--who ended up here.”

 

Blaine smiled at him softly.  “Well, whatever your reasons, I’m glad you’re here.  I rather like you, Kurt.”  He winked at him flirtingly.  “But, well, I am curious about your curse, now.  I mean, other than the cold skin, what does it do?”

 

Kurt patted his hand sadly, making him shiver.  “You’ll figure it out soon enough.”

 

* * *

 

 

The evening passed sooner than Blaine would have liked it to, and he spent the whole night at Kurt’s side, laughing, talking, giggling, and even a little singing, too.  Kurt showed him what little magic he could do, making firelights spin in the air, and Blaine in turn made roses grow from the ground, clipping them into a bouquet that he handed to Kurt.

 

It was only as the sun began to rise that Kurt began to panic.

 

“I’ve got to go.” He said quietly, rushing away from Blaine as fast as he could.  “It was nice meeting you, Blaine, but I’ve got to go, and I’ve got to go _now_.”

 

Blaine ignored him, rushing after him.  “Does this have something to do with the curse?”

 

“You could say that!  But I’ve got to  _go_ , Blaine!”

 

Blaine grabbed his hand.  “But when will I see you again?”

 

“Possibly never, I--!” Kurt looked up at the sun, and then back at Blaine.  He stared at the heartbroken expression on Blaine’s face, and his eyes softened.  “I’ll be back every night for the festival.  I—I promise, I will.”  He squeezed Blaine’s hand.  “I won’t say goodbye to you just yet, I promise.”

 

“You better not!” Blaine grumbled as Kurt let go of his hand.  “I don’t even know your last name!” Blaine whined as Kurt began running off into the distance.

 

His new-friend turned and smiled at him.  “It’s Hummel!  Kurt Hummel! And I’ll see you tomorrow, Blaine!”

 

“Promise!”

 

“I promise!” Kurt yelled back with a laugh, before he disappeared into the sunrise.

 

* * *

 

 

The second day of the festival went much like the first, the exception being that this time, Blaine was the one on his arse in front of Cooper.

 

“Distracted, little brother?” Cooper teased as Blaine rubbed his sore bum.

 

“Leave me alone, Cooper.  I didn’t sleep last night.”

 

Cooper poked at him with the practice sword.  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you met a maiden.  Was there a girl at your little party last night, runt? A lovely damsel who caught your eye?”

 

_Not a girl, definitely._ Blaine thought, but didn’t say.  Instead, he flushed brightly, his cheeks warm on his face.  “Shut up, Cooper.”

 

“Oooh, look how red he is!  I think he did!” Cooper laughed, offering Blaine a hand off the ground.  “Is she pretty? Have a  _lovely_  bosom?  Are you in  _love?_ ”

 

“Hush, Cooper, I only just met hi--her.” He hit his brother lightly as a distraction.

 

“You know, you’re never going to win over a lady’s heart unless you slay a dragon.  You know that, don’t you, runt?”  Cooper grinned wildly.  “ _I’ve_ killed a dragon.”

 

Blaine rolled his eyes.  “You killed a hatchling.”

 

“It was still a dragon!”

 

“It was barely bigger than my foot!”

 

“It still counts!” Cooper argued with a grin.  “More than any you’ve ever killed.”  His brother poked him again.  “I can teach you how, if you’d like? The most important thing is to be REALLY LOUD so you get its attention, and then stick it with the pointy end.”

 

Blaine frowned.  “That’s terrible advice.”

 

“Excuse me? Which of us has killed a dragon, again?” Cooper messed Blaine’s hair up again.  “Beside, don’t worry, little brother.  I have faith in you.  You’ll do it all someday—slay dragons, rescue maidens, break curses—all the good stuff.”

 

Blaine’s eyes widened.   _Curses!  Kurt_ is  _cursed._   “Right, I need to—leave.  Right now.”

 

Cooper blinked at him.  “Where are you going?”

 

“To the library!” Blaine rushed out, running down the corridor.  “I need to—read something!”

 

“Ye  _gods_ , why would you do that  _willingly_?”

 

Blaine rolled his eyes.  “Goodbye, Cooper!”

 

* * *

 

 

But the library had no answers for Blaine.  For the rest of the day until it was time for the festival to begin anew, he poured over tome after tome, but found no such curse that turned a man’s skin cold, or made him fear the sunrise.

 

He would have to find out from Kurt, then.

 

He was so engulfed in his research, however, that he failed to realize the festival had started without him. 

 

His research could wait; Kurt was waiting for him.

 

To his surprise, he found Kurt already at the festival, in the same outfit as yesterday, talking animatedly to a risen spirit.

 

And maybe eavesdropping was wrong, but some things couldn’t be helped.

 

“—it’s part of the curse.”

 

“Hell of a curse.  Exactly what I’d expect out of Sue.” The spirit—a curly haired man in a sweater vest—mumbled to Kurt.  “But you’re—you’re happy?”

 

Kurt nodded.  “Yeah.  I mean, I love him and I think he’s actually—like me, this time.”

 

Blaine’s stomach dropped. Of course Kurt loved somebody else.  Why would he ever choose someone like Blaine?

 

The spirit patted Kurt on the shoulder.  “I’m glad, Kurt.  That’s all anyone ever wanted for you back home.”

 

Kurt nodded.  “I know.  And thank you, Master Schue.  And I’m glad you’re doing well in the afterlife.”

 

The spirit—Master Schue—shrugged.  “That’s all you could want for anyone, Kurt.”

 

They were quiet, for a moment, and then Blaine coughed.  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

 

Kurt jumped a foot in the air.  “Blaine!  No, you’re not interrupting anything, I was just—“ he pulled Blaine over the to spirit.  “This was my teacher, back home.  Master Schue, this is Blaine, and Blaine, this is Master Schue.”

 

Blaine offered his hand to the old master, who smiled at him kindly but didn’t offer his own hand.  “I would, but, well, I hear it’s quite cold, touching a spirit.” Master Schue smiled.  “I’ll let you get to the festival.  It was good to see you again, Kurt.”

 

“Likewise, Master.”

 

“—And good to meet you, Blaine.” Master Schue smiled.  “I’m going to go find Emma.  Have a good Samhain, gentlemen.”

 

Blaine nodded.  “You too, sir.” He then turned back to Kurt, who was looking at him shyly.  “Do you—do you want to go outside again?”

 

Kurt beamed at him.  “I’d love to.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Do you turn into a troll?”

 

“What? No!” Kurt laughed quietly on the bench next to Blaine.  “That’s ridiculous!”

 

“What about an ice nymph?”

 

“Why would I turn into an ice nymph?” Kurt chuckled.  “You’re being silly.”

 

“Well, there’s got to be some reason your skin is so cold.” Blaine laughed, poking at his friend playfully.

 

Kurt frowned at him.  “The cold is a symptom, not a cause.”

 

“Ah, so you tell me  _now_ , after I spent all afternoon looking up spells that turn your skin cold!”

 

“You spent all after— _Blaine_.” Kurt smiled at him fondly.  “You don’t have to do that.”

 

“Of course I do.” Blaine rolled his eyes.  “If I don’t figure out what the curse is, how can I figure out a way to break it?”

 

Kurt frowned at him before taking Blaine’s hand into his own.  “Blaine, you can’t—this isn’t a curse that can be broken.”

 

“What are you talking about? All curses can be broken.  That’s the first thing they teach you in mage-school.”

 

But Kurt merely shook his head. “It’s too late to break this one, I promise.” He patted Blaine’s hand carefully.  “Let’s—let’s just enjoy the time we have together now, okay?  I only have until the end of the festival.”

 

Blaine blinked at him.  “What do you mean, you only have until the end of the festival?  Are you going somewhere?” Kurt shook his head, and Blaine’s heart sank.  “Will you stop being my friend once the festival ends?”

 

Kurt squeezed his hand.  “No!  No, I’ll never stop being your friend, and I’m never saying goodbye to you.  It will just be—difficult, I suppose, after the festival ends.”

 

Blaine raised his eyebrow.  “Because you’re a spy?”

 

Kurt barked with laughter.  “Because I’m a spy.  Now come on, won’t you sing with me?”

 

“Always.” Blaine promised, before he began singing the first bit of  _My Lady, It’s Cold Outside_ , which Kurt sang gleefully with him.

 

* * *

 

 

The third day passed by in a blur to Blaine, who spent most of it in the library, trying to discover Kurt’s curse.  It consumed his every thought, and he found it impossible to focus on anything else.  Even the tailor, Jeremiah, whom Blaine once fancied, failed to take his mind off of Kurt.

 

Nothing seemed to matter, really, except for Kurt.

 

“Are you a vampire?” Blaine asked first thing after the sun set, when he found Kurt at the festival.  “Because your skin is cold, and you won’t go out in the sunlight, and I’ve never seen you eat or drink anything, so you might drink blood.”

 

“I’m not a vampire!” Kurt laughed brightly.  “And hello to you, too. Nice to see you again.”

 

Blaine raised an eyebrow.  “How do you know you’re not a vampire? Maybe you’re a vampire and you don’t realize it.”

 

Kurt shook his head.  “I’m not a vampire, Blaine.  Though in hindsight, that’s a remarkably good guess.” Kurt patted the bench next to him, for Blaine to sit.  “I’m human, Blaine, just as much as you are.”

 

“That’s a shame,” Blaine teased gently.  “My next guess was that you were a siren. Beautiful and enchanting, luring men out to their deaths.”

 

Kurt blushed brightly, unwilling to look at Blaine’s face. “Do you mean to do that?”

 

Blaine blinked.  “I’m sorry?”

 

“Flirt with me, like I’m some sort of—of maiden.  I’m  _not._ ” Kurt argued hotly.  “I’m a man, same as you.”

 

“Have I offended you?” Blaine offered, horrified.  “I’m so sorry, Kurt.  I never meant to hurt your feelings, I just—“

 

“So you  _don’t_  mean it?” Kurt barked, surprisingly angrier than before.  “You just do that naturally, to everyone you meet? Men, women—“

 

“I don’t like girls,” Blaine blurted out before he could stop himself. It felt real, all of the sudden, saying it out loud.  He never had before.  “And I  _do_  flirt with you Kurt, but I never meant to treat you like a maiden, and I’m sorry if I offended you because I  _never_  want to do that and—“

 

“You don’t like girls, either?” Kurt asked quietly, his face scarlet.  He gave Blaine’s hand a gentle squeeze.

 

He shook his head.  “No.  Never have.  I know I’m supposed to, but I—I don’t.”

 

“I don’t either.” Kurt whispered back, in quiet tones.  “Back home in Merula, I had this…friend I was supposed to marry, Brittney.  She was sweet and everything, but when I tried kissing her I just—couldn’t.”

 

“It’s not just me, then.” Blaine laughed with relief.  “There’s a girl—a princess of another kingdom named Rachel.  I kissed her once at a party and liked it, but when I tried again sober it just didn’t work.  Thankfully, she understood and convinced her parents to end our engagement, but still.” He nudged Kurt gently with her shoulder. “Whatever happened to you and Brittney?”

 

“Oh,” Kurt sighed quietly.  “I got sent to Dalton before we got married, so that…ended things.  I haven’t seen her in years.  Last I heard, she was living with a witch named Santana,” he winked smugly at Blaine.  “Her  _lover._ ”

 

Blaine barked with laughter.  “Kurt Hummel!”

 

Kurt’s eyes twinkled merrily.  “What?”

 

Blaine giggled again, resting his head against Kurt’s shoulder. “I am so glad to have met you, my friend!”

 

“And I you, Blaine of Ander,” Kurt smiled at him sadly.  “I’ll miss you when I’m gone.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Day four came too soon, and it hadn’t fully sunk into Blaine’s head that he had only one day left of the festival, and therefore only one day left with Kurt. 

 

At least, it hadn’t hit him until he arrived at the festival that evening, and saw Kurt in the middle of the room, in the same outfit he wore all week, but—heightened, somehow.

 

Softly, he began to sing a song about a blackbird, but Blaine hardly noticed the words to the song—all he could focus on was Kurt and his voice, his beauty and the water in his eyes.

 

If it was magic, it was a spell unlike any Blaine had ever seen.  But deep in his heart, he knew it was no magic: it was love.

 

Blaine  _loved_  Kurt. 

 

He had only known him for four days, but it was real.  Blaine loved him deeply, and truthfully, and he was  _losing_  him.

 

He waited until the song was done before walking up to Kurt, and dragging him out into the courtyard, away from prying eyes.

 

“You sang beautifully.” He complimented truthfully, and Kurt smiled at him shyly.

 

“Thank you.  I sing it every year.”

 

“What was it about?”

 

“Pavarotti, my bird.  I had him as a child, and he died the day before Samhain ended.  So every year, I sing a song for him at the festival, to remember him.”

 

Blaine whistled.  “Must have been some bird.”

 

“He was.” Kurt smiled, sadly.  “He was my only friend.”

 

Blaine took his hand and squeezed it gently.  “We should sing together tomorrow.”

 

“…Okay?”

 

“I mean,” Blaine blushed, unexpectedly nervous.  “In front of everyone, at the festival.  Before you—leave me.”

 

He felt Kurt’s fingers tighten across his.  “I already told you, I’m never saying goodbye to you.”

 

“But you  _are_  leaving me.” Blaine argued childishly.  “Tomorrow!”

 

Kurt frowned.  “It’s not that simple.”

 

Blaine picked up Kurt’s hand, and squeezed it with both hands.  “Tell me then, please! Let me understand your curse, so I can learn how to break it!” He let go of Kurt’s hand, and wiped a stray tear from his eye.  “It breaks my  _heart_ , Kurt, knowing that you’ll be gone!”

 

Kurt picked up Blaine’s hand, and held it gently against his heart.  “I’m dead, Blaine.”

 

Blaine blinked at him.  “…I don’t understand.”

 

Kurt smiled at him sadly.  “I told you a witch cursed me while trying to bless me, correct?  What she wanted was to make me immortal, so that I could never die.”

 

“That’s impossible.”

 

“It is,” Kurt agreed.  “And it isn’t.  You were right, the day we met and you accused me of being a terrible spy.  I  _was_  a terrible spy, and that’s what got me killed—forty years ago.”

 

“But,” Blaine asked, laying his hand flat against Kurt’s still beating heart.  “You’re alive.  You are, I can—I can feel your heart beat.”

 

Kurt nodded.  “Forty years ago, I was caught spying on the Anderian Kingdom on behalf of the Merula Kingdom, and as such, was sentenced to death immediately.  They stabbed me in the heart, and I died.  My soul left my body, and my body was thrown into a shallow grave just outside the capitol, where they bury all traitors and unwanted.”

 

“Then what happened?” Blaine asked, fascinated.

 

“I wandered, or at least, my spirit did.  I went home and saw my family, watched as they mourned me and then moved on, but unable to comfort them at all.  No one could see me or hear me or feel me.  I was a ghost, in every sense of the word.  It’s funny now, but the first song I ever sang for Master Schuester was about being invisible, but it took dying and being barred from the afterlife to really learn what being invisible was truly like.

 

I thought I was being punished, at first.  I thought my spirit couldn’t move on because I hadn’t believed in the gods, but that wasn’t the case, at all.  The reason I’ve never moved on…is because I never actually died.  I went back to my body nearly a year later, and it was just the same as it had been when I left.  My heart still beat.  Blood still rushed through my veins.  But my spirit, my soul—was trapped on the outside, like a dead man’s.”

 

Blaine’s eyes widened.  “Until Samhain?”

 

Kurt smiled.  “Until Samhain.  The Festival of the Dead, when the dead spirits are brought back among the living for one week.  For one week, I live again, in my body.  I can touch, I can feels, I can sing.  And my body has never aged, never scared, or known sickness, or wound, or hunger.  Trust me,” he said sadly.  “I’ve tried.  I can’t be killed.”

 

“But you come back?” Blaine asked, softly.  “You come back to life, every year on Samhain?”

 

Kurt nodded. “Every year on Samhain, I—“

 

He couldn’t say anything, for Blaine had kissed him.

 

* * *

 

 

Blaine did not leave Kurt’s presences for the rest of the festival, even following him after the sun rose, to Kurt’s underground bedroom beneath Dalton.

 

(“It’s not that the sun can kill me, because I tried that, too.  It just hurts.”

 

“So you really are a vampire, then?”

 

“Shut up.” Kurt mumbled with affection, throwing a pillow at Blaine’s head.)

 

They stayed together, trading kisses and words of affection, after the sun rose, and after it set again, until only the few minutes of Samhain remained. 

 

Blaine rested his head against Kurt’s.  “So you’ll leave me, soon.”

 

Kurt kissed him, gently.  “Not really.  My spirit will still be here, it just—won’t be in my body.  You won’t be able to see me, but I’ll still see you.” Kurt kissed him again.  “I promise, I’ll never say goodbye to you.  But, I—I wouldn’t blame you, if you wanted to say goodbye to me.”

 

Blaine shook his head.  “Never.”

 

“But you should, Blaine.” Kurt frowned.  “You won’t see me again for a year, and while I love you with all my heart, you deserve so much more.  You should be with someone who can love you year-around, not just a week at a time.”

 

“But I don’t want anyone else,” Blaine vowed.  “I want you, and I will always want you, and I will want you again, this time next year, and every year after that, until my soul leaves my body for good.” He pressed another kiss against Kurt’s face.  “I will find a way to break this curse, Kurt.  I swear to you, I will find a way to bring you back permanently, or find a way to let your soul leave in peace.  And if that’s the case,” He kissed his lover’s hands quietly.  “I’ll join you, shortly.”

 

“ _Blaine_ —“

 

“What was her name? The witch who cursed you?”

 

“Sue Sylvester.  But I wouldn’t bother, she’s no help at all, I’ve tried—but  _Blaine_ , you can’t  _kill yourself_  to be with me, that’s  _stupid_.”

 

“I  _love_  you.” Blaine repeated, grasping Kurt’s hand tightly.  I would do  _anything_  to be with you.”

 

Kurt’s gaze softened just as the sun began to rise.  “I love you, too.”

 

And then he was  _gone_ , and Blaine was left with only his body in his arms, but not his love.

 

* * *

 

 

It took Blaine months, but he finally found her: Lady Sue Sylvester, who lived still, older than dirt and looked it, too, in a palace she built off the misfortune of everyone she’d ever met.

 

He held his sword to her throat.  “Tell me how to break the curse.  Now.”

 

She didn’t seem fazed by the blade against her.  “I put a lot of curses on a lot of people.  You’ll have to be more specific.”

 

“Kurt Hummel.  You  _blessed_  him with immortality forty years ago.  How do I bring him back?”

 

She looked over him, curiously.  “Why do  _you_  want to know?”

 

“I love him,” Blaine admitted without a second of hesitation.  “Tell me how to break the curse.   _Now._ ”

 

“Huh.” The witch said, looking over Blaine’s form curiously.  “I always thought Porcelain would go for someone taller.”

 

He held the sword closer to her. “Tell me!”

 

She rolled her eyes at him.  “Put that knife away, little boy, before you hurt yourself with it.  I’ll tell you what I know.” She waited until Blaine put his sword back in it’s sheath before offering him a seat across from her desk.  “As you might already know, any curse can be broken.”

 

“I knew that.”

 

“But do you know what it is that breaks most curses?  Love.”

 

“But,” Blaine asked, confused.  “I already love him, and that hasn’t broken the curse yet.”

 

The witch waved him off.  “Let me finish.  As I was saying, love can break any curse, but how much love is required for a different level of curse.  A simple sleep curse? True love’s kiss should do the trick.  But bringing someone back from the dead? That’s going to require a lot of love, kid.”

 

“I love him,” Blaine repeated “Completely and ardently, with every fiber of my being.  If I need to make a vow, proclaiming my love for him in front of the gods and my father, the King of the Anders, in order to break this curse, then I will.”

 

Sue shrugged at him.  “It couldn’t hurt, but I wouldn’t recommend it.  Not unless you wanted to get killed too, and then who would save dear sweet Porcelain?”

 

“Then tell me what I must do.”

 

She folded her hands across her desk.  “Love takes many forms, young man, and experiencing all of them is probably the only way to break the curse.  There’s the emotional part, of course, which claim to do, but there’s also the passionate, physical part, which, as a seventeen year old boy you probably already—“ She looked over at Blaine again, surprised.  “Really? Huh.”

 

Blaine glared at her.  “What is it?”

 

“Your virginity.  You should fix that, with Kurt.  That might break the curse.”

 

“But it might not?”

 

“It might not.” Sue confessed.  “There are other forms of love—sacrificial love, of course, the willingness to lay down your own life for the one you love.  And finally, there is loyality—being true to your love, no matter how the distance between the two of you, for no matter how long.”

 

“How can I do all that, though?”

 

The witch shrugged.  “By loving him.”  She then pulled out a strange, mechanical horn from her desk, and shouted from it.  “NOW GET OUT OF MY CASTLE.”

 

* * *

 

 

PASSION

 

By the time fall returned, a full year had passed, and Samhain was soon to be in full effect.  Blaine was ready, however, and had hid himself down in Kurt’s bedroom, waiting for the sun to set and his lover to wake up.  He smiled down at Kurt as he blinked back into life.

 

“Welcome back, my love.” Blaine smiled fondly, leaning down for a gentle kiss.

 

Kurt threw him down on the bed, and Blaine didn’t leave the room for a week, and when he finally did leave, he walked a little funny.

 

It still wasn’t enough to break the curse, and by the end of the week, Kurt’s soul left him, again.

 

* * *

 

 

LOYALTY

 

There were other boys who wanted him.  Of course there were—Blaine was handsome, and young, and despite how he felt growing up, not the only man in the kingdom who preferred the company of men. 

 

But none of them were Kurt, and so Blaine’s heart hadn’t wanted them, no matter how pretty or smart or funny they might’ve been.

 

Some of them took no better than others, though.

 

“Come on,” Sebastian—a new mage to Dalton who had just come from across the sea, whispered against his ear.  “It doesn’t bother me if it doesn’t bother you.”

 

“It does bother me!” Blaine shoved him off.  “I already told you, I belong to someone else.  Now leave me be!”

 

He had hoped that would be the last he heard of Sebastian, but fate was rarely so kind.

 

* * *

 

 

SACRIFICE

 

He should have Sebastian would follow him down here one day.

 

“So this is your secret lover? A comatose boy who looks like a little girl?” Sebastian scoffed, looking over Kurt’s sleeping form with distaste.  “Give me a break. I could give you so much more than—“

 

“But I don’t  _love_  you,” Blaine repeated, sitting on Kurt’s bed and holding his lover’s hand.  “I love him.  And you shouldn’t even be here!”

 

But Sebastian wasn’t listening, and had instead pulled out his bow and arrow.  “He’s already half-dead.  I wonder, if I go ahead and finish the job, will you love someone else instead? Somebody  _alive_ , this time?”

 

And Blaine knew—he  _knew_ , theoretically, that the arrow wouldn’t hurt Kurt, and that Kurt had done much worse to himself and still he lived—but he could not help himself.  He jumped in front of the arrow, throwing himself in front of the blow, protecting Kurt.

 

And that was how Blaine lost his eye.

 

* * *

 

 

PASSION (II)

 

Sebastian was arrested for attempting assault on a member of the royal family and sentenced to prison, and in the mean time Blaine got used to not having peripheral vision.  By the time Samhain rolled around, he had almost forgotten about the eye patch entirely.

 

Kurt didn’t let him forget it, though, and hit him the second he woke up, followed by a long, hard kiss.  “You stupid boy,” Kurt whispered against Blaine’s lips.  “You shouldn’t have done that.  I’ve taken arrows a thousand times and it’s never hurt me, not once.  And now you’ve lost your eye.”

 

Blaine grinned and kissed him.  “Luckily I have two, right?”

 

Kurt smacked him against the shoulder.  “Luckily you’re still so handsome with only one!”

 

“Says the man who wanted me to move on and love another.”

 

Kurt rolled his eyes.  “Sorry for wanting better for you, for you to have a lover whose heart still beats!”

 

 Blaine’s grin was wild, as he placed his hand gently against Kurt’s heart.  “Your heart is still beating,” He smiled, kissing along Kurt’s jaw.  “Want to see how fast we can make it beat?”

 

* * *

 

 

VOW

 

On his third year at Samhain with Blaine, Kurt awoke with ring on his finger.

 

“I know it’s not much, but it had been my grandfather’s, once.  And while I know we’d never legally be able to wed, but, well, I guess I just wanted you to have something, something to represent the promise I’ve made to myself, and now to you.” He kissed Kurt’s ring finger.  “To love you, always.  To defend you even if you’re wrong.  To surprise you, and to love and cherish you, for as long as we have together.”  He kissed Kurt’s lips.  “Even if that’s only once a year, at Samhain.”

 

Kurt blinked back tears.  “We’ll have to get you one, to match.”

 

* * *

 

 

LOYALITY (II)

 

“Eight years is a long time, little brother.”  Cooper—now the king—rested his hand on his brother’s shoulder. It had been a long evening, moving Kurt’s comatose body from beneath Dalton to the inner palace. “How long do you plan to wait for him? For—for the curse to break?”

 

Blaine didn’t say anything at first, just placed a gentle kiss to his husband’s hand.  “I promised him forever.”

 

“Forever is even longer still.  And one week out of a year isn’t—it isn’t a lot, Blaine.” Cooper patted him awkwardly.  “There are other boys out there, you know.”

 

But Blaine merely shook his head.  “A week with Kurt is worth years with anyone else.” Blaine kissed his sleeping form gently.  “I choose Kurt.  And I will always choose Kurt, until the day I die.  I know you don’t understand that, Cooper, but I—“

 

Cooper shook his head.  “No, I understand.”  He patted Blaine on the back one final time.  “If he makes you happy, little brother.”

 

Blaine smiled.  “He does.  He always does.”

 

* * *

 

 

LOVE

 

“This Samhain feels longer, for some reason.” Kurt said, on the last day of Samhain, just before sunrise, with his arms wrapped around Blaine’s middle.  It was ten years to the day since the moment he and Blaine first kissed.

 

“Does it?”

 

“It does for some reason. Usually I can feel it start to pull right before the sunrises, but today I feel—nothing.”

 

Blaine jumped out of Kurt’s arms, his eyes wide.  “Do you think we did it?  Did we—did we manage to break the curse”

 

“Ow, Blaine that’s my  _stomach_ , I—“ Kurt’s eyes got wide.  “I  _felt_  that.  Blaine, that hurt, and  _I felt it.”_

 

Blaine pinched him.  “Ow! That hurt.” Kurt laughed loudly.  “Blaine, that  _hurt!”_

 

Blaine jumped out of bed, and pulled back the curtains in his and Kurt’s room in the palace.  “The sun’s up.  Look, Kurt!  The sun’s up, and  _you aren’t dead._ ”

 

Kurt squealed with delight.  “We did it!  By the gods, Blaine, we broke the curse!” He jumped into his husband’s arms.  “ _You_  broke the curse, you—saved me.” He kissed Blaine slowly and passionately, pouring all his love and life into Blaine’s embrace.  “Thank you.”

 

“Oh, there you are,” Blaine whispered against Kurt’s now-warmed skin.  “I’ve been looking for you for forever.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

And that, my children, is the story of Kurt and Blaine, and how true love—the kind that lasts for eternity, can conquer any curse—even death itself.

 

…What do you mean, you don’t believe it?  It’s the truth, I swear it!

 

You know how I know it’s true?

 

Because Kurt is my brother, and when they finally broke the curse, they came back to Merula and saw me.  And I didn’t believe it at first, because here I was, a fifty year old, with my long-thought dead brother in front of me, looking like he hadn’t aged a day! 

 

“Only mentally, Finn.” Kurt teased me, last I saw him. 

 

As for what happened to them next?  Well, they left the kingdom—both kingdoms—and headed towards the woods, with Cooper’s blessing, to live a life alone, free, and together.  I still see them occasionally, but with my old bones, it’s hard trip to make.  Last time I saw them, they managed to have a child, though where they found it or how they  _made_  it are two things I don’t want to know.

 

So I guess you could say they lived happily ever after.  The end.

 

Now go to sleep, children.  I’ll tell you another story in the morning.

 

* * *

 

END


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